
Class r^^^^B 

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CopightN",/ ^/^ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS 



BY 

CHARLES WELLS RUSSELL 



Copyiight. 1909. 1911. 1913. by 
CHARLES W. RUSSELL 



WASHINGTON 
Pres* of Gibson Bros.. Inc. 
1914 



/ 






P 




CHARLES W. RUSSELL 



POEMS 



BY 

CHARLES WELLS RUSSELL 



Copyright. 1909. 1911. 1913. by 
CHARLES W. RUSSELL 



WASHINGTON 
Press of Gibson Bros., Inc. 
1914 






FEB 28 1914 



OCI,A36 2973 



o 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

Lelia • • 6 

Rest 7 

Spring 8 

Home 9 

Absence lo 

Noon II 

The Wild Rose 12 

Sleep 13 

The Arbor 14 

Love 15 

Wealth 16 

Untrue 17 

Summer 18 

Dreams 20 

Night 21 

Ruth 22 

Roses 23 

A Dryad 24 

Forgotten 25 

Autumn 26 

Friendship 27 

Lucy 28 

Song (To Bless, not Gain) 29 

Memories 30 

Dorotea 31 

Holding the Reins 32 

Driftwood 33 

Peace 34 

Shadowings 35 

The Feather 37 

Alone 39 



Gossip 40 

Jeptba's Daughter 42 

Comfort 43 

Sere 44 

The Miser 45 

Thine Angelus 46 

Sunset 47 

To Thee 48 

Song (As with Upraised Wing) 49 

After 50 

Come 51 

Even Song 52 

Iranian 53 

The Secret Place 54 

Minor Chords 55 

Autumn Leaves 56 

Scenery 57 

Tell Me 58 

Easter 60 

Asphodels 61 

Back from the Desert 62 

Hast Thou Forgotten 63 

Also 64 

Shadows 66 

The Dell 67 

Iranian Rest 68 

In Gulistan 72 

Following 73 

Song (Come with Roses) 74 

Lady 75 

Hands 76 

Ecce 77 

Serene 78 

Lazzarone 79 

Cypress 80 

The Tryst of Alcaeus 81 

Night in the Desert 83 

3 



Wandering 84 

The Dream of Ruth 85 

Forever 88 

Folly 89 

Twihght 90 

Farewell 91 

Ingratitude 92 

The Cradle Land 93 

Birds 94 

Hands Invisible 95 

Still Faithful • • • 96 

Nothing 97 

Elisabeth 98 

Swallows 99 

Gentucca 100 

Gleaning loi 

Unweeded 102 

June 103 

Search 104 

Mariengarn 105 

Words 106 

Song (Childhood's Royal Idleness) 107 

Rocks 108 

Challices no 

Watchman m 

Spirits 112 

Egyptian 113 

Irene 114 

The Meeting Time 117 

Tears 118 



FRAGMENTS. 

1 119 

II 119 

III 120 

IV 120 

V 121 

VI 121 

VII 122 

VIII 122 

IX 123 

X 123 

XI 124 

XI 124 

XIII 125 



LELIA. (Dedication.) 



Her busy hand, in homely ways, 

All tireless toils its daily share, 
Nor waits for either blame or praise, 

And silent is her daily prayer. 
No tragic art she knows to prove 

How deep, how pure may be devotion. 
Unuttered every thought of love. 

She dares not trust with her emotion 
A tongue unskilled to show a part 
Of that which overflows the heart. 
When nights and days, when friends seemed fewest, 

She stood beside a bed of pain 
Explaining that she was the truest, 
And in these words did this explain 
(Words eloquent as words can be) : 
"Here, take and drink this cup of tea." 



REST. 



Come with me to the mountain peaks 
O'er paths which neither start nor end 
Yet lead past twinkhng forest flowers 
To that still world where beauty seeks 
The peace she cannot find in ours. 
Ah, dearest, come! and with me spend 
Time reckoned not by loss of hours. 

The unremembering air shall play 
Upon his harp of many strings 
Soft harmonies forever new, — 
For thee their secret charms display 

Wild morning-glories drenched in dew, 
And drafts as cool shall yield the springs 
As maid or maenad ever drew. 



SPRING. 



Where the wood and meadow met 
The bluet and the violet, 
Purer than a saint's regret, 
Shook their fair heads from the wet. 

"Dainty snow-drop blue," said I, 
"Thou art fair, but far too shy, — 
Thou and thy sweet cousin lie 
Hid, like truants from the sky." 

Then I asked: "Thou little maid. 
Wherefore of a kiss afraid?" 
Answering when she could, she said : 
"To thy soul that sin was laid." 

After all unfeigned surprise. 
Questions low, with no replies. 
Came a new light in her eyes — 
Came a shower of tears and sighs. 



HOME. 



I've builded thee a mansion gay 

Upon a secret height, 
Where days as fleet as hours in May 

Descend on waves of Hght 
From Heaven, no longer far away. 

Anear thee shall alight 
A peace which there shall brood and stay 

Thro' all the day and night. 

The eagles whirl about their young 

A mile or more below, 
And in and out, the clouds among. 

The lightnings come and go, 
And farther down, like silken thong, 

The flashing rivers flow. 

There shalt thou stroke the fawn, or feel 

The graceful panther press 
Against thy knee his thews of steel, 

Awhine for thy caress, 
And never sight or sound reveal 

The other world's distress. 



1274 — 2 



ABSENCE. 



Ah, I wonder if thou knowest 

How my love is love indeed, 

Or the comfort thou bestowest 

In my loneliness and need, — 
Thro' the day where'er thou goest 

That my thoughts are bees that feed! 

Ah, and when the dusky even' 
Steals the day and night between 

Dost thou know their din in heaven, — 
Dost thou know their flying keen 

By mad gladness made uneven, — 
Are they heard, or felt, or seen? 

Then they linger to behold thee 
From the Ughtning of their flight; 

Then they weave around to fold thee 
In the charmed peace of night. 

Have they whispered thee and told thee 
What is winging their delight? 



NOON. 



The poet lay beneath the trees 
Translating what an amorous breeze 
In Sanskrit, Greek or Japanese 
Did whisper his rapt ear to please ; 
And so he labored (carpeted 
Upon a rug of gold and green 
Inwove with thread of blue and red, — 
An Arab plan, with silken sheen,) 
Till half the golden hours were sped ; 
Till all the little tribes that dwell 
Where only he and robbers hide 
Lay stricken by the hot noon-tide 
And all the breezes speechless fell 
And not a cow did ring her bell : — 
Naught moves, save one forsaken cloud, 
The reason being, nothing can ; 
And all is silent, even the loud 
Siesta of the great god Pan. 



THE WILD ROSE. 



When I was lost within a forest, child, 
There came the lone song of a brooklet wild. 
Then, turning sharply round where, with a vine 
A dance of water-gleams did intertwine, 
A white rose, trembling in the brooklet's spray. 

Bowed at me with an imafifected grace. 

I could but pause, and lo, I soon did trace 
Where near the rose my long-lost pathway lay! 
So fair that flower it scarce were seen, sweet maid. 
If plucked and on your own fair bosom laid; 
But far less dark the wild than that which threw 
Its shadows round me when I met with you. 



SLEEP. 



She loved me only, called me a sweet name, 
But ah, she seemed a visitor that came 

And not a child of day ! 
And when she slept, she never turned or sighed 
But my poor heart beat fast, lest ill betide 

Or her kindred take her away. 

I watched her sleep, and envied the cool air 
That could so lightly steal to lift her hair 

And kiss the rare, pale maid. 
How could I leave, when she might dream of woe 
With none to whisper, — "I am here, and so 

Sleep on, — be not afraid!" 

I sat and watched, and loved each lingering hour 
That gave her rest ! — and ah, I had the power 

Out of my love and will 
To keep her human and prolong her stay. 
Like Heaven was the night, and in the day 

I had her with me still ! 



THE ARBOR. 



Now thou art gone how fair the night! 

How sweet the breezes and how bright 

The flowers ! Like a radiant dream 

The blooms that fleck the arbor seem. 

But all night long they pine and pray 

And wait and listen — I and they, 

Hearing the petulant whippoorwill, 

Which only maketh the night more still 

And the aching void more plain, — 

Till I press the flowers to my cheek and the pain 

Pierces the numbness of heart and brain, 

Shakes me from madness — from dreaming again 

That I have not lost thee! — that never yet 

I knew such a being as I regret, — 

Till I know all real is my despair! 

Then into the glow of the luminous air. 

As into a song its sigh or prayer — 

A shadow passes and over all 

The benediction of sleep doth fall. 



LOVE. 



She fed her spirit from the tree 

Whose fruit o'erhangs the springs of light, 
Seeing the far dawns yet to be 

Aghmmer on the mountain height 
And dreaming as a summer sea 

Dreams, folded in the arms of night. 
Ah, lost dove from some bluer day! 

Ah, light waif from a purer sky ! 
Ah, dear hours that forever stay 

Anear me and on slumber lie, 
Like roses on the breast of May ! 

She heard a far-oflf people cry 
In anguish, — forth with no delay 
She drove me, while she wept good-bye. 



WEALTH. 



Am I, then, poorer than these landlords all 

Who boast of splendid wealth in lands and gold? 

They are but vassals mine and in my thrall : 
What theirs the caitiffs claim for me they hold. 

Do I not seek my pleasm^e 'mid "their'' trees, 
These many miles around, and by each spring, 

While they are toiling, take my lordly ease? 
For me they toil ; for me around they fling 

Those velvet carpets greener than all green; — 
Mine is the bird which, redder than all red. 

Bursts on me like a sudden flame between 
White laurel buds and boughs that lean o'erhead. 

Have I not chosen me upon yon hill 

A mansion fairer than are made with hands — 

A home ancestral — stately — what you will, 
Where at each side a towering poplar stands? 

What priceless pictures hang upon the walls ! 

Such works the antique masters painted not 
Who spared no pains on paler "cardinals" 

And saints that died for virtues now forgot. 

For me they whet the scythe, — ah, yes, for me, — 
To spread abroad the scent of new-mown hay; 

For me they sowed yon grain which, like a sea, 
Rolls laughing round the trembling feet of May. 



l6 



UNTRUE. 



They told me thou art light and gay 
And changeful as the clouds of May. 
I see thee 'mid a giddy throng 
Whirled in merry dance along, — 
Thy soul, — ^that had been — ^not more sweet 
Than thy frail form and twinkling feet; 
Then lo, to seek the glimmering shade 
By poplars in the moonlight made, 
Touching the lush grass of the lawn 
Lightlier than a startled fawn, 
Concealed within the portico 
I watch thee — ^with another — go, 
Flushed and whispering soft and low. 
Trembling, I note the roses fair — 
My roses ! — glowing in thy hair, — 
And then — just then — two tender eyes, 
The stars of a lost paradise, 
Are turned on me in sad surprise. 



SUMMER. 



Now thou art gone the sweetest bird of all 

For thee is lone and hath no rest at all, 

But sits and sings, beloved, the whole night long 

Through many changes one unending song 

Of love, of longing and of past delight, 

Filling, as thou did'st fill, the hollow night 

O'er full with music, — in his soul's distress 

Recalling scenes I can but partly guess. 

But now he sings of some lone rose that stood 

Fairest in the wild gardens of the wood, 

And now beholds 'neath softer skies than these, 

Across the reaches of the southern seas, 

A languid hoiui wakened from her dreams, 

Where almost true man's sweetest vision seems 

And from the heart the fetters melt and fall, — 

Where life is love and love is all in all ! 

He sings of fear and grief and vain regret, 

Of lights that waned and glooms that linger yet, 

Of her whose touch could cool a fevered brain 

Or turn to melody the cries of pain, — 

Of one, love-mad, that to the midnight moon 

Was ever muttering sweet thoughts out of tune; 

Of rankly odorous cedars and the breath 

Of flowers o'erblown and sickening to their death. 

And now he follows summer (that hath flown) 

Slowly thro' golden dreams to us unknown, 

Or lingers where the secret dove repines 

Above the writhing torsos of the vines 

Or rests within the tops of murmuring pines. 

He tells how, wandering, still he longs for home; 

And then I wait, and on the listening air 

A passionate silence rises, like a prayer. 



oW 



But now aloud the wood and garden ring, 

For he is seized with tumult, and his soul 

Exults with music wild beyond control ! 

I hear — oh, hear! — through night's resounding halls 

'Tis thee he calls, beloved, on thee he calls, — 

That thou may'st come, beloved, may'st come again 

And when thou comest evermore remain ! 



19 



DREAMS. 



Why should I die, if I such dreams can dream? 
After the hours when all things shadows seem 

And love is only pain 
There come the sweet caresses of pale night 
When she unveils her loveliness to sight 

And woos to dreams again. 

'Twas but a dream, — and yet it is not gone! 
I feel its presence yet; ah, till the dawn — 

Perhaps the livelong day — 
My heart may still be singing with delight, — 
Still, in the sky and on the earth, a light 

Shine, and not pass away! 

What was the dream? — I only partly know, — 
I knew the voice that whispered sweet and low,- 

The hand that — almost! — I pressed, — 
After a strange mistake and grief in vain 
Almost it was as it had been again, — 

Some time I'll dream the rest! 



NIGHT. 



' Nay, drive me not away again ! 
For thee I live or live in vain ! 
Must I, then, fleeing slander's tongue, 
Forsake thee, lest it do me wrong? 
A higher dream my young heart seeks, 
Ahungered for the mountain peaks, — 
Ah, let me by thy side remain ! 

' I'll ask for nothing in return, — 
Oh, do but let me stay, and learn 
To lift thy faint head from the ground 
And hold thee till a path be found 
Through dark vales to some twilight land 
Where cool springs run o'er purple sand 
And pale in heaven the sweet stars bum ! 

Ah, bitter is thy need!" The maid, 
So speaking, laid her hand on mine 
And, gently as a spirit freed 
Or from its nest a bird will lead, 
To where the needles of the pine 
Lie thickest, led me, unafraid. 



RUTH. 



Beersheba's road that led from Dan, 

Or Boaz' field when Ruth was seen, 
Not lovelier than the path which ran 

Where Ruth — immortal — wept between 
The hill-top pasture and the wood! 
There like a fallen sumac gleaming 
The cardinal wove his thread of flame, 
And eyes were with a promise beaming 
Naomi would have understood. 
And like a shower the tear-drops came. 

Ah, me! — that hers, the tenderest 
The clearest, sweetest life of all, 

Should soonest lose its little best, — 
'Ere yet might wholly fade and fall 

The lilies of an Easter morn 

(As some frail vine which hath caressed 

A stricken tree, apart is torn 

By idle winds), should withering lie 

Or, panting for the light, should die! 



ii 



ROSES. 



Still as fair the flower we planted 

Near these walls by dead hopes haunted 

O'er its trellis, where we spaded 

Climbs, by strangers' fingers aided. 

Long and pendulous, like a vine, 

It hangs in the dusk its roses fine. 

And whenever too starless my night appears 

And the pain of longing too keen for tears, 

I enter this garden, by all unseen, 

And linger where thou and thy cave have been. 

The trellis, then, like an altar stands. 

And I bow before it with clasped h^ands : 

And I know, wherever thou kneel in prayer, 

One name, unforgotten, is murmured there. 



A DRYAD. 



Ah, who so fair a soul would stain 
With guilty sense of others' pain? 
(I marked not then, in Druid aisles, 

These painted windows rich in story, — 
Those oriels filling dim defiles 

With the brief wealth of evening's glory,- 
I only saw the light that glowed 

Around thee and, upon thy hair, 
The ruddy wine the sun bestowed 
Until its waves were overflowed — 

And thou — with radiance everwhere. 
And drank the effluence more divine 
From thy calm eyes and wholly thine;) 
For who can mend the ruined vase 

The morning-glory once lets fall, 
Or who within the nest replace 

Its winged loss, or back may call 
The perfume which the rose that dies 
Trails thro' the portals of the skies. 

Or love's first sigh, more fair than all ? 



FORGOTTEN. 



I seek for peace beneath the murmuring leaves 
Where deepest He and rot in mould their kin, 

And in the heavens where busy mid-night weaves 
Her charms the palpitating dome within 

Until it gleams and murmurs like a shell, 
And on the lapping waves of blue that bear 

Sometimes to pleasant lands, where ever dwell 
The radiant dreams that flee from ours. There 
The dead day liveth in a night more fair, — 

And then I seek it 'mid the cries of pain 

Where fellow-travelers bleed and faint and fall, 

For thou would'st go — and I be left — again — 
A parting far more bitter yet than all — 

If from the iron in my soul I wrought 

No ribs for frailer barks with sorrow fraught. 
And so I seek what on before me flies, 
And sometimes, when I sleep, it softly lies 

Upon me like a mantle dearly bought. 



25 

1274—4 



i 



AUTUMN. 



Is autumn come or summer still advancing? 

Beside the path the scarlet sumac falls ; 
Like larger swallows, thro' the twilight glancing, 

The night-birds throng; no more the partridge calls; 
The hillside rain (pale warriors homeward trooping 

When war is over), blurs the whitened trees; 
Beside the hopeless bud, resigned is drooping 

The finished flower, which the faithful breeze 
Caresses ever with a touch more tender. 

Now is there pause, for now at length is won 
From nest and field the harvest, fat or slender, 

Now can we bear of those whose race is run 
To think, at least, they rest, if not again 

To greet us ever. Now the meek September 
Exerts herself with golden stress, in vain. 

Puffing her cheeks at summer's dying ember. 
Now in the trees there sounds a minor tone 

For him whose hopes in life, not death, are thwarted, 
Who cannot feel that only he is lone. 

But let us leave this to the broken hearted. 
And look how that which careth for us all 
Is busy where the bees and apples fall. 



FRIENDSHIP. 



The gamut of the less and larger hills 

Which swells beneath the touch of autumn's fingers, 
From the torn bosom drives its flocks of ills; 

And where the great notes end there Ufts and lingers 
A prophesy or promise, which a mind 

That is not like the owl at mid-day flying 
By hate pursued, but loves all human kind, 

In part may read. And from the oaks repl3dng, 
A voice mysterious doth softly tell 
One secret of the many: "All is well." 
And felt, not seen, the presence doth descend 

Of him who, friendless 'mid his wheeling spheres, 
Made the vast miiid of man, to comprehend 

Himself and them, and gave it love and tears. 



LUCY. 



Ah, touch those minor chords again, — 
They steal away a nameless pain ; 
And let me take that little flower, 

So pure, so fresh, so sweetly fair. 
Its odor seems to share the power 

Which hides within that simple air, 
To wake the true and beautiful. 
With hovering wings unseen to lull 

To peace beyond compare ! 

Play on, that I may close tired eyes 

And dream of honeyed hours gone by, 
Or waken in a paradise 

That not as far away doth lie. 
Seeing revealed the glory of thy soul, 
Catching its sweetness in the notes that roll 

In great waves by, — 
Feel thy heart throbbing in the notes that roll 

Their great waves by ! 

Play on, — now evening thro' the bar 
Shepherds the loitering flocks of night, 

And on a sea of peace doth rocks afar 
The cradle of a newly born delight 

Beneath a sky of love without a stain! — 

Ah, play, dear child, and play, and play again, 
Until — good-night ! 



28 



SONG. 



"To bless — not gain" is love's refrain, 

And so 'twill be forever, — 
The heart must die and live again, 

And self lie dead forever. 
Or thou shalt know the sacred glow 

Of love's delight — ah, never! 

Oh, come and know how deep is woe, — 
How near thou art to Heaven, 

Oh, come and feel a music peal 
Which jars the gates of Heaven, — 

Oh, come and fare where angels are 
And peace and prayer at even ! 



MEMORIES. 



When no one sees 
The burning tear-drops unforbidden well 
From thoughts that may in utterance find no ease — 
Secrets that partly to ourselves we tell 

When no one sees. 

When none are near the pitiless shadow feeds 

As it may please 
And, ravening, stirs the bones of evil deeds; 
Yet, mid the dross, and fairer so, may spring, 

Beneath the trees, 
A few white buds, along the path to fling 
Some fragrance, and more welcome tears may bring 

When no one sees. 



i 



DOROTEA. 



Thou art a powerful sorceress whose spell 

All near thee weakens; 
Thou art a rock uncharted, — all in vain 

Are towers and beacons ! 

Thine is the modest loveliness only bared 

By flowers at even ; — 
Thy heart is sweeter than within them lie 

The dews of heaven. 

Thou art the limitless depth of space and the soft 

Blue veil that hides it; 
Thou art the ocean's dark abyss, the wave, 

And the bird that rides it. 

Like flashes from a dread volcano's cloud 

Shoot thy swift glances, — 
As music o'er the moonlight water stealing 

Thy sigh entrances. 

Idly thy doubt or fear I — to pluck a flower 

Gives pain to thee, 
Thou silent dove upon a masthead clinging 

Far out at sea! 

Thou art an angel, weary and disheveled, 

With feet that bleed. 
Bringing a light to one within the shadow 

His steps to lead, — 

Nay, not an angel, either, — one still dearer 

To anguish human; 
For thou, when one beholds with vision^clearer, 

Thou art a woman ! 



HOLDING THE REINS. 



A golden chariot swift is driven 

From ocean to the fields of heaven, 

And there its white steeds champ, all sweating 

From the steepness of their pull ; 
Silver tones their hoofs are beating; 

From their harness beautiful 
Jewels glance and gleam like dew. 
They hurry thro' the fields of blue, 
Flowing mists their necks adorning, 
While a boy that heeds no warning, 
But that fearful height disdains, 
Sits and pulls the silken reins. 

But the bravest meet disaster; 
And the steeds run fast and faster 

Till, amid the unseen dangers. 
Strikes a golden wheel. The bridle 

Straining, breaks. Then, as a stranger's, 
Hear those steeds his shoutings idle. 
They are loose and wander free, 
Here and there o'er land and sea, 
Till the old sea-hunger stings them 
And their own wild nature flings them 
Forward over crags and snows. 
Downward each then leaping goes, 
Past the topmost pines, unresting, — 
Past the eagles, madly breasting 
Danger thousandfold, — still lunges 
Onward (while a white nymph plunges 
By him, clinging to his mane) , 
Back to the ricks of foam again. 



DRIFTWOOD. 



There is a book which drifted long unread. 

And in it, wild-flowers pale and long since dead; 

A poem called "The Book of Job" therein 

Also is found, 'mid tales of God and sin, 

And one brief scrawl which spells to memory's eye 

As precious tales as in its covers lie; 

For there, in girlish style, is lightly penned 

The name of her, a first and dearest friend, — 

Of one who was when in the skies o'erhead 

As yet a glory shone (with her it fled!) 

Freely she lived, — nor bowed she to the high, 

Nor scorned the low, but lent a ready sigh 

To each one's sorrow, with a kindly smile 

For all but those who gossiped and the vile. 

One only other woman's name those pages 

As good as she have snatched from ruined ages. 

Unmarried, "Miss" she wrote and not the name 

I knew so well, — I ne'er had seen this other; 

And as I read it, thro' the tears that came, 

I smiled to think a "Miss" should be my Mother. 



33 

1274— 5 



PEACE. 



O my comrades, why such eagerness and hasting, 
Such gulping down of life and never tasting? 

I am going, — you may tarry here in town. 
The trees do not hurry in their growing. 
Nor even the little flowers to their blowing, 

Nor the red leaf to its fall among the brown. 
Ye will not hide yoiurselves where I shall hide me. 
Where fern and laurel linger green beside me, 

And soothe the hectic year with dreams of spring; 
Ye will not know the wild primeval feeling 
When solitude and stillness, gently stealing. 

Untie the cords that bind the spirit's wing; 
Ye will not hear life's undersong the ocean 
Singeth around the keen ship's quiet motion 

And the cedars and the hidden rivers sing. 



SHADOWINGS. 



Beneath the smoky rafters of the pines 

The cedar's censer swung, 

And, bending in the chancel dim and bare, 

A maiden spirit all her wealth of prayer 

From mines of sorrow wrung 

Poured on the quivering stillness of the wood; 

For then was heard 

No wildwood cry — no dreaming bird — 

No voice but of the throbbing of her blood 

And beating of the waves of upper air, — 

Prayed for a mortal's love, — 

Of immortality and barren ease 

Sick now to death, as of a slow desase. 



Unpitying, cold, upon the depth above 

Her ship of pearl, 'mid softly scudding seas 

The chaste moon steered. "Oh, soon! — oh, soon!** 

The wan one sighed and sighed again. 

As if in answer, — "Pain? — yea, death and pain, — 

Yes, give me these, that I may be like him 

And he may love me ! Oh, disrobe me all 

Of power, and with mortal passion dim 

A form that blinds and awes, and quick let fall 

The triple veil of light which hides this brow 

From mortals, — let him love me! — now, — oh, now I** 



35 



She waited. First came shadows, warm and blent 

With many odors sweet and pungent, — sent 

As heralds of a presence of delight, — 

And lo, was heard the spirit of the night : 

"Behold!" she cried," thou fool and traitor base 

To piety and realm and ancient race — 

Thou shalt be mortal!" "Oh! 

By what strange words to give me all!" 

"Yea, strange to thee, but stranger shalt thou know : 

When that our messenger did fetch thy prayer, 

Came one from him thou seekest to thy fall : 

'Make me,' that starry youth, whose streaming hair 

Doth like my girdle glitter, cried : 

'If in thine eyes my secret heart is fair. 

Make me a deathless spirit of the air!' 

I heard him, and to mortal ken, he died." 

Then as a star a heavenly beauty glowed 
'Ere it was quenched, and onward swiftly strode 
The mighty presence, while a woman there 
Fell fainting, like a wilful, loveless bride. 



36 



THE FEATHER. 



Senora, let mucli fanning be 

And listen; there is on my mind 
Or in my blood, a word for thee; 

And I would have it soft and kind. 

The gold rim on thy languid arm, 

The whiteness of that small white glove 

For such as thou may have a charm — 
Not truth — ^not loyalty — ^nor love. 

"Oh, love — my love — ^is low desire, — 

'Twas clear that, since our game began. 
'Twas not thy fault if too much fire 
Was kindled by a careless fan. 

Jos^ would not insult thee so." 

Such coquetry as coiled and sprung! 

With kindly words — 'tis best — I go. 

But who would dream? — and one so young! 

"Jos6 can love a woman well: 

He holds her kindly in his arms; 
And Josh's not the man to tell 

How much he knows about her charms. " 

Jos^ — ^Jos6! — yes — yes, — I know. 

And yet I deemed this woman good — 
Dreamed that but holy fires could glow 

In eyes so soft ! 'Twas but a mood — 

One sweet hour wandering from far days 
To shrivel in the glare of shame. 

Don Jos^ take thee ! — go thy ways ! 
Play on with other hearts thy "game!" 

37 



How daintily that raven hair 

She decked for me with trembling spray- 
Plucked from a living bird ! She'd wear 

My love thus for some Don Jos6 ! 

' More love — ah, love is but a word 

For silly maidens of sixteen ! 
For thee the dance — the eyesight blurred 

With wine, and kisses crushed between. 

I stay too long, — my presence tires ; 

But this, the final time, thou'lt bear 
The torture, since Jos6 admires 

Thy patience toward me." Have a care! 

Senora, if not love, there's fear ! 

What have I said? Ah, stay — yet stay! 
For if 'tis pain to have thee near, 

I shall go mad with thee away I 

"I must forgive, then, this, — the worst?" 
So, thou wilt drag me in the dust? 

Yet, by thy dark-eyed beauty cursed, 
I love thee still because I must. 

Nay ! — wherefore cast beneath thy feet 
That feather? — it is fair to see. 

"That crime thou never shalt repeat." 
My pain, alas, was naught to thee ! 

But have I erred and done thee wrong? 

Jos^? "I am thy Don Jos^, — 
To me — a fool — thou dost belong!" 

A pardon, on my knees, I pray! 



38 



ALONE. 



Oh tell me, dost thou blame and hast thou sorrow? — 

Dost brood on that wild hour 
When thou didst beg of me — didst pray to borrow 

Wisdom, or calm, or power 

Which lay beyond thee and thy heart of woman, — 

That lost hour when I could 
Have stilled and left thee— had we been less human — 

Had I myself withstood, — 

When, with my all of dark laid bare before thee — 

Full many a spot and stain. 
Thou couldst not stem the flood-tide that rushed o'er thee 

From the uncharted main? 

Ah, we have seen each other well! — one only 

Thus such as thou behold. 
But after, dear, the world is nowhere lonely, 

The heart grows never cold. 

Now never may our Pleiades unheeded 

Before thee spread their skein. 
Nor quite may fail the faint, the sorely needed 

Hope all will be again. 

So, then, dream on — ah, wake not from a dreaming 

In which thy heart's all lies. 
All peace, all promise, be it sooth or seeming. 

The starlight of such skies! 



39 



i 



GOSSIP. 



"Good morrow," said the butterfly, 
And fain with him would prattle — 

The tortoise winked a weary eye 
At all her tittle-tattle. 

Said she to me: "I know," said she, 
"Why his politeness fails him, 

"He cares not how his neighbors be 
"And nothing ever ails him; 

"A life of scorn for all things born 

"He stingily doth spend it, 
"And slyly hides from morn to morn. 

"So time forgets to end it. 

"Such sinners can be touched," said she, 
"And stirred to great emotion, — 

" It needs the merry fire, you see, 
"To set some hearts in motion." 

"But thou," said I, "what life is thine 
"That thou mayest scorn thy brother's? 

"I know thee; thou dost play and dine, — 
"What dost thou for the others?" 

"Before a drooping girl I fly 

"To paint her cheeks with roses, — 

" I light a twinkle in her eye 
"And fill her hands with posies. 

"I am a living ecstasy, 

"The hand-maid of the flowers; 
"I bring their dresses, which you see 

"Hung in the sunny showers; 
40 



"The plumage of sweet thoughts am I, 
" Fair Venus' fairest daughters, 

"The wings whereon they float and fly 
"O'er woods and fields and waters. 

"I tear my mummy-cloth and rise 

" (All poets know my duty) 
"To mirror gleams from Paradise 

"Of hope and joy and beauty!" 

I would have answered, but the tips 
Of Psyche's fingers, pressing, 

Did gently seal my angry lips. 
And left the tortoise guessing. 



4« 

12 74—6 



JEPTHA'S DAUGHTER. 



I looked — and she was gone! She had been there 
Before there came a darkness everywhere, 

For plain was seen, 
(And nothing else mine eyes would see at all), 
The dogwood leaf a trembling hand let fall 

Where she had been. 

Into the depths of fatherhood had swept 
Another flood — ^those deeps whose billows slept 

In restless rest 
When the pale moon, but not the sun, returned, — 
That shone no more ! — ^its sunken glory burned 

Beyond the west. 

My sorrow's child stood splendid and serene: — 
No thought of self, except as all had been 

Vain sacrifice 
For one, now hopeless, she had lived to cheer. 
With upward look she spoke (and shed no tear) : 

"Thro' pain we rise!" 

An amulet — a relic — now I wear, 

(That last brave word so sweetly spoken there) — 

A jewel bright 
As those that shine glad lovers' eyes to please, 
Kindled in shells by throbbings of disease 

In deep-sea's night. 



COMFORT. 



Where the bare white bones are bleaching 
And the bare black arms upreaching — 
Where last summer's face is blotted — 
Blm-red and crumpled — marred and spotted 
Till it never may again 
Lifted be from mire and rain, — 

There I hide me from the city, — 
From men's gazes and their pity — 
From their praises and their scorning — 
In the chillness of the morning — 
In the darkness or the light 
Which is neither day nor night, — 

And, when limping rabbits shiver 
And the loose vines drip and quiver, 
And upon the laurel's fingers 
Not a glinting leaf still lingers ; 
Then — ah, then ! — the blessed cold 
Quenches thought to ashes old. 



SERE. 



Where'er I turn the pungent smell of leaves — 

The odor of their fatal fever — flies ; 

For, like a serpent thro' the forest trailing, 

Creeps now the busy one that never dies, 

Crosses the one that never is across, 

And leaveth blight along the track he weaves. 

And yet I cannot hear a sound of wailing, — 

And yet I do not feel a sense of loss. 

As calmly as to watch the billows break, 
I gaze upon this manifold decay, 
Delighting in its green and gleaming jewel 
Of laurel leaf, with settings brown and gray, 
Half thankful that the trees are naked all, 
And loving for their own pathetic sake 
(Not longing for the spring-time and renewal) 
The tender, clinging kisses of the fall, — 

Too glad for desolation thus complete 

To draw me down and fervidly caress, — 

To whisper in the hollows of my heart 

The secret things of utter calm distress, 

To hide me and to still me from alarms, — 

To coax me and to lead my weary feet, — 

From every wish to win me far apart 

Save one — to rest — swoon — perish in such arms I 



44 



THE MISER. 



Now like a mute, bedraggled dove 
Day quivers, wounded, where it lies ! 
And softer are wan memory's cries. 

And kind lean down grey clouds above. 

Not here the white reproachful gleam. 
The cold, hard candor of the skies, 
Or fleckless covering that lies 

And makes last summer's face a dream. 

Not here pure snow-drops high o'er eaves, 
To be like angel's footsteps lifted. 
But dingy shreds by each wind shifted 

Through miry pathways when it grieves. 

Yet here, where ragged mould reeks wet, 
The green leaves glint in cameo white. 
The rich red berries flame out bright, — 

And tremble priceless sprays of jet. 

Ah, here I love to hide my woe, — 
My jewel (while with hers the wild 
Doth soothe me like a sobbing child) — 

My dearest jewel — in the snow! 



45 



THINE ANGELUS. 



Dawn and eve and eve and dawn 
Come with dews and come with rain 

For the roses — ^roses gone, 
Still bring thee dear thoughts again. 

Dawn or eve, if dark or fair, 

Little doth my darling care. 

Blithely as the mock-birds run, 
Flaring over dawn's pale grass, 

Or white pigeon in the sim 
Swings to feel eve's breezes pass, 

So thy soul doth find or leave 

Sweet repose at dawn or eve. 

Gently bells ring thro' the morn, 
Gentlier at the close of day, 

Ringing into hearts forlorn 

Comfort and the grace to pray. 

Ringing tears, but tears divine 

For that happy heart of thine. 



46 



SUNSET. 



When its great white bloom the land 
Opened 'neath a dawn serene 

Help was none, — on every hand 
Sorrow wounded clear and keen: 

Like a desert lay the pain 

That we ne'er should meet again. 

Now at eve wide seas between 

Are a story that is told, — 
Years, farewells that might have been ; 

Unseen arms — thine arms — enfold 
My lone eyes like brooding wings, 
And thy love is near and sings, — 

Sings me to the far-off day 

When thy smile would flatter grief 
Even in a mother's way, — 

Sings of life no longer brief 
Together, and a rainbow nigh 
Trailing roses thro* the sky. 



i 



t 



TO THEE! 



No campo santo sees thy form in stone, 
Yet hast thou truly a memorial — one 
As loving — ^not more sure to melt away; 
For it is I, whom thou hast left so lone : — 

It is I, only, — ah, the glittering whole 
Not ample were of heaven from pole to pole 
To fill the measure of a tomb for thee, 
Could any tomb bring comfort to thy soul ! 

But it is I who, as the beads are told 

Upon Time's rosary of jet and gold, 

Still wait to learn the secret thou should'st know,- 

What, at the end, his fingers may unfold. 



48 



SONG. 



As with upraised wings descending, 
Pigeons end their long, lone flight, — 

So she Cometh, slowly wending 
Thro' the waiting hush of night, — 

Comes to speak of love unending, — 
Comes to be my one delight, — 

Whispers of no radiant morrow 
After years and years of pain, — 

Sobs a tale of others' sorrow 
They and she can ill sustain, — 

Comes to bring — to bring and borrow 
Courage to go on again. 



1274—7 



AFTER. 



The one that slept had wakened in this child 
Whom both had loved. Beside her he beheld 

A hope that sobbed in passing, wan and wild. 

She knew not; but tho' childish otherwise, 
Before her time her heart of woman swelled 

To dry the secret mist that dimmed his eyes. 

But this from him she hid, as he from her 
And others better, hid his pain. Afar 

She felt one wish within her bosom stir — 

One only wish, — ^it would not let her rest; 
She watched him with her pity, like a star 

That throbbeth for another in the west. 

But after, when the storms were overpast. 
When round about him weltered leaden peace 

And she was something more than child at last, 

Their pathways led together, and the two, 
Bearing an old-time yearning, with increase, 

Long silent stood; — from silence then, they knew. 



50 



COME! 



Child, rest awhile in mine thy flitting hand. 

Thy heart's horizon, to the silver brim 

With smishine filled, if wider, might grow dim. 

Thou can'st not have thy daisies and a ring. 

Ah, if thou listen, do not understand! 

But come and love me, — all thy treasures bring. 

I do not seek the things that glad thine eyes, — 

I do not hear the music in thine ears, 

Nor thou the far, faint strains from wondrous years, 

Nor thou the sobs of dear caressing hours; 

And what I have is fairer than the skies, 

But what thou holdest, darling, only flowers. 



51 



k 



EVENSONG. 



Now from the shadows fly the swifts, Irene, 

As we have watched them fly, 
And from the darkened years return 

Lost doves of memory — 
And odors of a purple land 

Where Imger thou and I, 

Unknowing, near the parting of the ways, Irene, 

Two children who, in play, 
Are lost — quite lost — upon the shore 

Of one fair summer day. 
For now from eve's awakening hours 

The veil hath dropped away. 

Which seemeth all too near to me, Irene, 

Too dreary and too bright; 
Which hideth from the longing eyes 

The beauty of the night 
And from the lonely heart shuts out 

A heaven of sweeter light. 



IRANIAN. 



'Tis she whom I could doubt when near 
Illiuninates these pictured skies, — 

More bright than fall of pity's tear 
Or dew in lily lies, — 

She, lovelier than the moon and star 
Wan evening in the ear of night 

Departing hangs — more dear by far — 
As dear as lost delight, — 

Yea — down the billowy desert's coast, 
Its gilded capes that ring afar, 

'Tis music's tones I love the most 
The palpitating skies imbar, — 

For thro' the wild a splendor sings 
Which, singing, to my heart replies: 

All melted are the frozen springs, 
The buried longings rise. 



53 



THE SECRET PLACE 



Ah, I would pluck the heart of darkest night 
And I would steal the bleeding sunset's heart 

To hang rare jewels there, or with delight 
Wring tears from thee, beloved tho' thou art, 

To deck with dew my offering of flowers 

That fades and fails within a few short hours. 

Dear, only thou may'st enter — thou and I, — 
And only thou and I may ever know 

Where two far golden lamps that hang on high 
(Gilding the darkness of the aisles below) 

Down alabaster walls soft shadows fling. 

Like plumes that fall from some fair angel's wing. 

Like music is the turning of a door; 

Like ecstasy the trembling of a veil : 
Ah, lead thou on — be near, but on before. 

For too much hope hath made my courage fail,- 
Ah, if thou wilt, go nearer, love, to them. 
And on the threshold kiss their garments' hem. 

All night long a beauty like the moon ! 

All night long a sweetness like the stars! 
Softer than the waves of afternoon. 

To and from the temple's dome and spars, 
Carrier doves athwart a desert fly 
And white the desert looks up at the sky. 



54 



MINOR CHORDS. 



In the spring the young bh-ds have their mating, 

But thou hast only pain ! 
Full many are the seasons of thy waiting, 

And wilt thou hope again? 

Thou lovest, — thine are glimpses of that beauty 

For which all living yearn, — 
Foreshown in silent hour to toil and duty 

And secret tears that burn : 

And thine love's changeless certainty, the feeling 

Which will not be denied, 
Which hears, beyond the dreadful thunder pealing, 

The gay retiu-ning tide, — 

Which sees, about the tower slow bells are shaking, 

The fair white pigeons fly, — 
Which waits, how near soe'er the heart to breaking, - 

Still waits and will not die ! 



55 



AUTUMN LEAVES. 



Full sad went he and slow ; but on before 
The other ran, with fluttering skirts of white. 

He paused and mused beside the brooklet's shore, 
Where beech-trees in their images delight. 

Full sad was he, and knew, or deemed he knew, 
No hope should rest upon a heart so young, — 

A girl, — a child, — a butterfly that flew 
Forever gay the dancing flowers among. 

But there is other wisdom : as the doe 
Noteth the leaf, so innocence at play 

Heard a faint sigh, the falling leaf of woe, — 
Heard and drew near and would not go away. 



56 



SCENERY. 



Nay, there was dust within mine eyes ; 

Thou see'st 'tis a gusty day. 
Look ! where an eagle circling flies ! 

I think I'll put the book away, 
For 'tis not well a scene like this 

By reading idle verse to miss. 
Look, dear, how like a band that binds 

A lady's hair yon torrent winds ! 

"Right fair and bright it seemed?" I know. 

"A pretty name the maiden had?" 
Perhaps. When thou shalt older grow 

Recall the song, — 'tis not so bad, 
And, read by thee in some far year. 

Ah, may it then as bright appear! 
Yes, child, remember, read and pray 

For him who did not read to-day. 



57 

1274 — 8 



TELL ME. 



At God's winepress now, slow draming». 

Dost thou taste unfinished wine 
Blessing it or uncomplaining, 

Or in secret heart repine 
For a draught long past attaining, 

For a dreamed cup divine? 

Seem the deeper vision taught thee, 
Thy sweet gifts which sanctified 

What the leanest harvest brought thee. 
Now as blest as dawns that died, 

And the potter's hand that wrought thee 
Pity's — dear as aught beside? 

On one road, in one dim region, 
For one day of changing sky, — 

Tell me, has thy heart's religion 
Failed thee : is it best to lie 

Calm, but silent, while in legion 
Words that could be deeds go by? 

As the bee seeks honey merely, — 

Heedless of all else doth fly. 
Loved, to love again sincerely, — 

Souls like thine for this would sigh, — 
Loving, to be loved as dearly, — 

Tho' in gardens of the sky; 

And it helps to think that, choosing 
Now, thou would'st, for all the blame,- 

Little for thyself but losing. 
Lift a sweeter face the same. 

Wide-eyed, wistful, unrefusing, 
Hiding not the tears that came. 

S8 



Much it helps, where much is needing. 

Thinking, if a secret thorn 
That beloved breast is bleeding, 

'Tis the loveless live forlorn, — 
Thinking of low paths receding — 

Of a higher hope newborn. 



59 



EASTER. 



Ruth sat beside him, silent, moving not, 

Her thoughts on him, and sometimes on the child, 

Than she more fair and wise and wonderful, — 

Sat in the dreary gleaming of the sim, 

The sadness and the waiting of mid-mom, 

By life, as by a breathless globe, shut in. 

Near, from the eaves, the last of melting snow 

Shed glittering drops o'er sepulchres of flowers. 

Of these he thought, — how they 'ere long would rise. 

Clear, holy spirits : he could see them now 

As they would doff their dusty cerements. 

Of these he thought, until one gleam of peace 

Came, like a wandering sea-gull, lingering not. 

At him, and chiefly at his eyes, he knew 

She could not look. And when, full suddenly, 

Loud bells with anguish shook the Easter mom. 

He thought, perhaps her strength will not avail, 

And so he called her name. 



60 



ASPHODELS. 



On Saturn's rim hath stood my soul 

To lasso comets with a thought 
And glittering balls in play to roll ; 

But soon, with cosmic sorrow fraught, 
It sighed again for earth's control, — 
It longs to drink the breath of flowers 
Again, in these love-haunted bowers. 

A hand now sweeps the dusky lyre 
Aerial, — first by notes possessed 
More bright than crackling leaves on fire, 

And then like birds that hush to rest, 
Deserting, one by one, the choir, — 
'Tis thou, with fingers dripping balm, 
O midnight, and thy radiant psalm! 

That call of soul to soul! — oh, hear! — 
From that sweet heaven adust with stars 1 

At last, — oh come ! — no more I fear 
The rending of the veil that bars, — 

Knowing the asphodels are near, — 

The lilies and the asphodels 

And one who close beside them dwells. 



M 



BACK FROM THE DESERT. 



Out of that desert did I lead the way 

Where on love's manna, hiding, we had fed. 
There for a thousand years we thought to stay, 

Unfound, unsearched for, as the lonely dead. 
There wert thou, in the night and in the day, 

Beside me, O beloved, — day and night 

No change e'er bringing save a new delight, — 
Far, where the wings of grief could never fly, — 

Far, where the future and the past were not. 
But, in the midst of sweetness a deep sigh 

Heard I, when sighs had been so long forgot. 
I heard it, and I feared to ask thee why; 

And thou could 'st not have answered. Sad and weak, 

I pondered long, and found no word to speak, 
But led thee forth into the darkening west. 

I should have known, beloved, hearts like thine 

Do crave a life of pleasure all divine, 
And, blessing not, have never yet been blest. 



62 



HAST THOU FORGOTTEN? 



Thou who not yet in Beatrice's train 
Art numbered, but from scenes familiar lost 
No less than she, I marvel dost thou mind 
How, by thy primal innocence, and trust 
As infantine, and by an answering care 
Thy spirit clear was cherished? 

Thou wert then 
Forever turning that to drink which made 
Thy life, as lily toward the light: less fresh 
A new-leafed willow trailing wet with dew: 
Gay as a duck, by distant thunder roused. 
Fanning with wide-uplifted wings the air, 
When the rain whips and whitens the black lake 
And fitfully the gusts are in the trees. 

Hast thou forgotten how thy heart approved 
And welcome gave to duty, toil and care 
For others, — how the touch of grosser thought 
Grew painful, and to harm an insect's wing 
Seemed harder than to suffer grievous wrong? 

Hast thou forgotten, thou of those the last 
Permitted for a time fair days to bless. 
How, in the haven of a chosen dell. 
Like a deep water was the peace? Through din 
Of wheels and men, the city's wide unrest, 
It left us not; and still the folding star 
Was seen more exquisite, and evening 
Settled more sweetly, and the world was kind. 

The woods, the streets, the thought for others,— these 
Can never be unbeautiful again. 

63 



ALSO. 



Beside the desert toss their flames again 
The kindling poppies in the breath of dawn. 

The level sunbeams shimmer, and the plain 

Is threaded with the morning song of birds. 

I hear again, as friend's familiar words, 
A thistle leaf that halts and scrambles on. 

Within the watered fields, the yellow wheat: 
Along their waters, poplars white and tall; 
And overhead a sky serene and sweet 
Stained by a crescent, like a flying bird : 
A quiet deeper for the whisper heard 
Of solace, by a passing breeze let fall. 

And there a maid, like wheat and poppies fair, 

Leadeth her sheep to water at a well. 
The shepherds, resting in the shade, declare 
'Tis Laban's daughter, — for a stranger youth 
Who gazeth on her, eager seeks the truth; 
And they, not knowing, of his uncle tell. 

Now is a glad first service kindly done, — 

The first of oh! how many yet to be! 
For her he rolls away the heavy stone 
Shutting the spring; and thinks it not amiss 
Of peace upon her cheek to press the kiss. 
To tell his coming homeward hasteth she. 

And then begin long waitings of a heart 
Untainted, O beloved, like thine own, — 

Then ah, the thought of thee, — of what thou art 

And how it is with thee, so far away ! 

Also to thee shall seem but as a day 

Twice seven years, tho' parted and alone, — 

64 



For that which I have seen within thine eyes 

And thou in mine, and they so long ago, 
Is changeless as the loves in Paradise, — 
Primeval, — new — eternal: days and years 
vShall mark it not, but only such pure tears 
Of gladness or of sorrow as may flow. 



6s 
1274—9 



SHADOWS. 



The suns will set, the hills and plain 
By stillness flooded be again ; 
White pigeons, greater flakes of snow, 
Again will melt in evening's glow; 
But when all wandering wings are fled, 
What shall be left thee in their stead? 
Thine eyes shall look and look again. 
Thy heart not crave a look too plain 
Lest these — thy last — should fade away 

(They could not wholly fail to bless,) — 
From roses of a better day 

The shadows in thine emptiness. 
But patience ! — though no promise smile. 

No self-deserting in thy need ! 

Be patient; let no thought or deed 
Thy wounded heart defile. 
So, take thy burden and — farewell! 

The Vk^orst of all thou could'st not know : 
The goblet from thy hand that fell, 

The day-dreams that forever go, 
Must leave thee yet the pure delight 
Which ever, through the longest night, 

Makes sweet the tears that flow. 



66 



THE DELL. 

It is so long, old trees, it is so long, 
Ye crouching flowers beside the path that speak 
Remembered things together, and thou stream 
O'erstrewing these with purity and light, — 
It is so long ! 

When did I hear, from out beyond the wood. 
The voice of one who called me as she came ? 
The squirrels stopped to listen, and the birds, 
'Ere I could speak, made answer as she came, — 
It is so long ! 

These saw her haste to greet me, — saw her hair, — 
As thine, bright spirit of the waterfall, — 
Trembling and tossed with gladness, in the noon 
Of days too brief — too brief, but all joy's own : 
It is so long ! 

The dell, ah me! unchanged! the hermit nun. 
Peace, for her refuge chose it. Slowly here 
Unfolded, one by one, of that fair soul 
What petaled thoughts and precious impulses ! 
It is so long ! 

Perhaps 'twas wise to bid her to forget, — 
Perhaps she changed,— ah, would it had been true ! 
Yet looks which once did greet me with delight 
I shall not see, if we shall meet again, — 
It is so long ! 

No! — I shall see, if I such eyes can bear, — 
A look shall see,— O passionless, sweet child, 
What shall I see, since all these lonely j^ears,- 
What hear within thy voice, if that can speak? — 
It is so long ! 



IRANIAN REST. 



What would'st thou, O my soul, would'st only see 

New green, and that shall not again be brought 

The cup of Indian summer, anguish fraught, — 

Or leave the lonely darkness of the night 

Tho' there walks beauty in her noon of might, 

Her bird Iranian challenging afar 

And hearkening an answer from some star, — 

Or shun to hear the Master when he sings 

Because of clouds and showers that lurk behind 

The golden calms that brood upon his mind, 

Nor think on her, a fair rose radiant made 

To comfort illness hopeless and afraid. 

Nor on a faded bridal garment shown 

With trembling secresy to one alone ? 

Time o'er the minor chords will move his hands, 

As hers the sea along the starlight sands, 

As in long afternoons the faint wind clings 

Amid the forest's many-'oendcd strings; 

And this is of earth's music, and must be 

Or all be lost. 

The sweet birds ring throughout the rocky vale 
Their friendly answers or some fonder tale, — 
A valley into which the jagged blue 
Like to a broken bowl is falling through. 
Here pale, thin poplars murmur to the stream 
At moments, grudged from some delicious dream, 
And in the palpitant air a crag is swung 
Too near o'erhead, its horny forehead hung 
With opal trinkets, borrowed from a sky 
Which loves in shameless nakedness to lie ; 
By night, like beacons of terrestrial wars, 
Burn on this crest the many-clustering stars. 
Here ragged-robins, peeping through the wheat, 



Wild hollyhocks and clover, dragon-flies, 
Hanging adown their blue threads tangle wise, 
And many an herb of little fame I greet, — 
Old friends still faithful under these far skies: 
They knew it would be lonely not to meet 
Familiar faces here. 

As evening dies. 
Beside a rock volcanic I recline, 
(For in such setting rough the burnished grain, 
O'erripe, is striving now to stand, in vain,) 
Hearing anear the limpid waters rush. 
And drinking, now and then, aerial wine 
From cups of white and yellow ; for a bush 
Doth roof me over thick with eglantine, — 
To clasp and kiss which gentle cousin's charms 
A young wild apple crooks his knotty arms. 
And yellow-jackets, wasps and honey-bees 
Have come to bring me other sweets than these 
Whereon so drowsily they seem to feed, — 
vSipped in fair gardens of Hesperides : 
There many a gnawing worm, amid the leaves. 
Of silken thought a precious coffin weaves, 
Wherein the star-winged lustres dreaming lie. 

All day serenely fair the breathing sky 
More still than ever rested. Now, at eve, 
A purple lily, tremulous and pale. 
Below the stamen of as pale a star, 
Stands, 'mid the jeweled hills, the silent vale. 
And now ye, O ye griefs of other years. 
Sunk in a rotting muck of sin and shame. 
Folly, remorse and dross that shuns a name, 
Rise, white and holy, washed in secret tears, — 
Yea, purer than the flakes of snow that fly 
Aloft, new-shaken from their windy sieve ! 

69 



Why are ye here? — why beckon one who fled 
So long, alas, so wearily, so far, — 
Beyond where poet first upon a height 
Set beacon, flashing to a distant hill 
In blackness lost, the pure Promethean light, — 
Through chasms, darker than man's spirit, fled. 
Past whipping vines and where grim talons seize 
The rocks in vain, of long since vanished trees, — 
By swooning cliffs where mortal madness dies 
And cataracts that quench pursuing cries ? 

Long there he gazed on our great mother's throes, 
Self-sculptured, vast, and prayed such mightier woes 
(Tho' sad it were by loss alone to gain), 
To blot all records — all ! — that so, new-born, 
Unloved, unloving, lone he might remain, 
Lone, but not lonely, — brother to the rock 
Which shoulders mountains with a tireless will 
And parries with a laugh the lightning's shock, 
When the black hurricane her wings hath spread, 
And looks upon the years in silent scorn. 

A lake of calm, deep-folded, lured him here, 
Secure down-clambering, like a virgin rill, 
Or as a deer when all the heights are still. 
And lo ! unlooked for and unwished, appear 
Ye, the far-hidden, the forsaken, — yea. 
Outraged and soiled and madly thrust away ! 
Yet, let it be in mockery ye come, 
I hear such accents that I dare not say 
Go! — leave me! 

From before mine eyes there falls 
What is a darkness, but hath seemed a day; 
Low voices, sweeter than of waterfalls 
Decking white roses with their glittering spray, 
Or thronging bees, when in the noon they hum 
70 



Through jasmine arbor and more patient make 
A maiden at the loitering of the hours, 
Awaken one who deemed himself awake, 
To find in blossom long-forgotten flowers. 
These pour from out their lucid urns of blue 
Sweet incense, O ye holy ones, to you ! 

And ye, how kind! — and all those fears, how vain! 
O thou Queen Sorrow ! — thou with all the grace 
Of new-made mother in thy sacred face, 
Behold a dove, storm-parted, found again, 
That hath no wish save near thee to remain ! 



,1 



IN GULISTAN. 



'Tis here the fearless bulbul with a song 
Alone dares brave the beauty of the night ! 

He pauseth oft and long 
Deep drafts to take of peace and of delight, 
Checking the silence when 'tis grown too strong 

And rapturously bright, 
Darkly enchambered in the silver trees, 
Disdaining sleep for more luxurious ease. 

Now thro' the nunnery of white blooms the sheen 
Of locust, apple, orange-blossoms, all 

May's prelude trembles. Seen 
By those thro' whom his loud, clear measures fall. 
The shadow's lighten and the lights between 

Are lix-ing wings. The tall 
Poplars beside the running waters keep 
Watch near the pools wherein their brothers sleep. 



7a 



FOLLOWING. 



Thou whose eyes still keep the blue 
Of a heaven beyond our ken, 

Thou dost heavenly gates undo 
For thy melody, which then 

Falleth soft o'er domes and towers 

And o'er parched hearts, like showers, 

For thy soul is tuned unto 

Sounds that sleeping angels dream : 
Tones like thine, from urns of blue, 

Madder ages might redeem, 
With their sad and sweet refrains 
Waking what of tears remains, 

vSoftly as her star the moon, 

Or as sunset after rain, 
Or as faith and hope full soon 

Follow when buds wake again. 
So the wandering world ere long 
Follows thee and thy lone song. 



73 

1274— I" 



SONG. 



Come with roses, — ring the bell ! 

Ring it well, — gay throngs are moving 
Round the carriage, laughing, shoving, — 
What is life save only loving? 

Scatter roses, — ring the bell ! 

Bring ye lilies, — ring the bell ! 

Ring the bell,— fair lids are smarting. 
Fair cheeks cold and fresh tears starting,- 
There's a death,— they call it parting,— 

There's a death, — so ring its knell ! 



74 



LADY. 



Do but let me live awhile, 
Dainty lady free from guile, 
Thou whose future and whose past 
Trouble never, but each pain 
Of another finds refrain 
And is all the woe thou hast. 

Let me stay, and have no fear, — 
Evil never could come here ; 
Where it lost in this sweet place. 
It would in thine own surprise 
Share, and shrink and hide its face 
From the light that round thee lies. 

How thy laughter, Lady fine. 
Lifts me to a joy like thine ! — 
As the soft Italian skies 
Lift me, when the glad sun flings 
('Mid the down of angel's wings) 
Ladders from the realms divine. 

Tho' no sisters of the faun, 
Tho' no daughters of the dawn 
Whom the drowsy flowers caress 
For thy handmaids worthy be, — 
Yet the grass thy feet may press — 
Even the weeds are touched by thee. 

Being from some radiant sphere. 
Do but let me linger near, — 
Me, with many a wound and stain. 
For my dark night be a star, — 
Light me — bless me — near or far, 
None the worse for what I gain. 

75 



HANDS. 



Behold yon picture overhead 

Of life in Pozzuoli : 
A woman sewing — by her bed 

A shrine of virgin holy. 
Comfort thence she long hath sought 

(Hard her life and lowly). 
Rest thee, dame, and pray awhile ! 

Tho' we passers-by may smile, 

Yet we pass more slowly. 

Many a lady for thy cot 
Gladly would forsake her lot, 

If her jeweled hand, as thine 
Might, in melancholy. 

Rest in peace upon the shrine 
Passed in Pozzuoli. 



70 



k 



ECCE. 



Guido, thine Ecce Homo's face may tell 

How high his faith has borne the Christian's art; 
Thy brain and hand have wrought it wondrous well. 

This Ecce Femina was by thy heart 
All pitifully drawn, — as like, we know, 

As that the judge who then could dare to slay 
A trembling dove already wounded so 

Did shrink from daily to his final day, — 
His pain like this we suffer now, — for us 

She punisheth, — one woman for them all. 
O worthy Guido ! — but we pray that thus 

No Guidos more may our rude hearts appal ; 
But let our passing victims to the veil 
In peace withdraw such patient looks and pale. 



77 



SERENE. 



He might have died and she alas! lived on, 
He might have left her to her grieving here, 
Left one to whom, as woman, love was all. 
He thinks it is as well that she is gone. 
He who is left is dull — even one so dear 

Remembers little — can but scarce recall 
Her features— any save the tender eyes 
Wherein her soul, in all its beauty, lies. 

He thinks 'tis well, since both their hearts have rest. 
He thinks she was not for a world like this, — 
A world unkind or mad, which will not see 
Who are the good, — nay, even tho' the best. 
'Twas^sad he wakened from a dream of bliss, 

Yet not so sad, for, after all, 'twas he; 
For ah! he thinks hath never left her eyes 
That dream, but'comforts her in^Paradise. 



78 



LAZZARONE. 



Where the lazy lazzarone 
Gulp their evening maccaroni 
Still the birds of black are flitting, 
Weaving auguries as ever, 
In a patient, slow endeavor, 
Or on ruined columns sitting, 

Jeered these lazy lazzarone 

Csesar in his glory car 

When he flew the wild war eagle 

Where the cloudy oceans are, — 

Gazed and gaped thro' all the stages 

Of the drama later ages 

(When a priestly finger lifted 

Bade yet larger scenes be shifted) 

Played where he had played at war; 

Played at ruling far-off regions 

Which no Caesar's bloody legions 

Saw, or ever dreamed so far; 

While these birds of black, but changing 

For an old a newer column, 

To and fro, in silent, solemn 

Flight of augury, went ranging. 

Nero and Savonarola, 
Tarquin and Rienzi Cola, 
Tarquin's Lucrece and the dame 
Lucrece of another fame. 
Laughter, license, love and tears 
Twisting in and out the years; 
And these faithful birds thro' all 
Auguring of good — not ills, 
Weaving o'er thy deathless brow 
Ever some new coronal 
Fair as is the thin moon now 
Come again to deck thy hills. 

79 



CYPRESS. 



The cypress plumes, as well they may, in Rome 

Mourn with a special beauty, and of all 
Fairest, as should be, cluster round the tomb 

Of one who heard their call. 
Here sorrow, in her everlasting home, 

His chant funereal 
For Adonais yet doth lean to hear 

Whose echoes fainted on the singer's bier. 

Ye seek all vainly for a third fair grave : 

She doth not lie where such a heart should rest- 
She who so rashly and so fondly gave 

The refuge of her breast 
That lorn Actaeon from his hounds to save ; 

But, slanting from the west. 
The loving sunbeams linger on the grass 

Above him, — then to Adonais pass. 

Twin spirits suckled in wild war by song 

And to a heedless generation given. 
Sweetly they slumber ! Here nor pain nor wrong 

May come. Their skiffs, far driven 
Beyond the pathways which to ships belong 

And by mad lightnings riven, 
Here, underneath their loved Italian sky. 

Together in earth's fairest haven lie. 



80 



THE TRYST OF ALCAEUS. 



'Tis the hour of love, — 
Linger not, fair maiden. 

Sappho, here, above, 
All the boughs are laden 

With flowers, for curtains of 
My poet's home — my Aidden ! 

Sweet and clear the urn 

Of thy silver singing, 
Tears that bless and burn 

To thy fond one bringing : 
Love's best dreams return, 

Round his wild heart clinging. 

As the grapes from vines 
Hang thy cluster'd tresses : 

More than all their wines 
Are thy fond caresses 

When the love-light shines 
O'er life's dark distresses. 

Thy throat uttereth 
Such a balmy breathing 

As the cedar's breath 

In the night wind seething, 

Or that of flowers, their death 
In new glories sheathing. 



8i 

1274 — II 



I 



Brightly glows thine arm 
As the beams that tan it ; 

Lightlier moves thy form 
Than the airs that fan it ; 

Beauties rich and warm 
(Like the ripe pomegranate) 

Linger round thy mouth, 

And in dizzy whirls 
Pass, to where love's drouth 

Thy soft eyelid furls 
When the purpled South 

Spells that conquer hurls. 

Maenad ! — from wild hymns 

By love led apart, — 
Dian ! — (breast and limbs — 

None of Dian's heart), 
Through whom madly swims 

Everything thou art, 

Hail ! — and farewell care ! 

Joy now pain replaces : 
O'er thy queenly air 

Play now gentle graces. 
As about thy hair 

Light soft shadow chases. 



Wondrous keen wit's spear 
Now aside thou layest ; 

Wondrous sweet to hear 
What full low thou sayest 

When in love drawn near 
Thou thy heart betrayest ! 

83 



NIGHT IN THE DESERT. 



Thou hast seen the wondrous miracle when o'er us, 

Where hung the sky and sun, 
In the transfigured depths are set before us 

The sweet stars every one, — 

'Tis wondrous as should further revelation 

Transform or hide each star. 
With our poor, fragile fleshly habitation — 

All things that round us are — 

And usher to our ken scenes yet more splendid 

Where love, this love we share. 
Should be by deeper harmonies attended 

In yet serener air, — 

Like trees we see in waters dimmed and broken 

But over, straight and tall. 
Should take a marvelous meaning, here unspoken. 

Fair dreams fulfilling all. 



83 



i 



WANDERING. 



His father's cot, in valley sheltered deep 
And framed about with gently rustling leaves, 

Haunts the tossed sailor's sleep; 
A matted vine beneath a porch's eaves 
Makes sad far birds, whose breasts in absence keep 

A music which relieves : 
Me the wild flock of mountains whence I came 
Calls ever — elsewhere all is void or tame. 

There the sleek beech is mottled o'er with light 
And scaly, like a serpent, lifts the pine. 

'Mid dark green burning bright 
I love to see the gum-tree's red leaf shine. 
There sprawls the grape, with reckless waste of might ; 

There moves the graceful line 
Of cat or snake, swift death in beauty furled. 
'Mid noxious herbs, the wildwood's underworld. 

There on a royal couch of green to lie ! 

Ah, there, while near obsequious trees should wave 

Their gorgeous fans, could I 
Yield to soft waters and grey rocks they lave, 
To ladder-rungs of light that toward the sky 

Lift from the glimmering cave, — 
Hear unrepining voices, feel kind eyes 
Of some small poet, singing ere he flies! 



84 



i 



THE DREAM OF RUTH. 



(i) 

A splendor trembling in a pallid form 
And therefrom tip-toed in the act to start 
But pausing, angel- wise, at sight of harm 

To wounded creatures, from the herd apart, — 
So ran my dream. Ruth, silent as a flower, 
Did look too long, too near, upon a heart 

Which, little as a widowed bird, had power 

To conjure hope, — whose morn and noon and night 

Passed like the printless footsteps of an hour 

Or shadow of a far cloud's dizzy flight 

Which hastes o'er summer fields and leaves no trace. 

She read what elder saw not, — she, a child, 

To him an airy elf, whose laughing grace 
Bespoke clear days by not one care defiled. 
So, as a child, he kissed her on the stair 

At bed-time, when she paused, — it seems he smiled 
And, knowing not, upon her wayward hair, 
Gently a consecrating hand let fall. 

But soon the parting, — she to placid hall 
Where kindly sisters kindness taught returned, 
He to the strife for which, till then, he burned. ; 



(2) 

And then years passed,— he heard men call them years, 
He marked them little; and again they met, 
Ruth still a child, with all that most endears 

Of sweet and true and helpful. No regret 
Within her heart's still precincts might abide. 
But thoughts which made her poorer to forget. 

More years and lo ! a wondrous maid was there, 
A rare, pale maiden ; and the child had died. 
Serener than the child's her look and air. 

More prone, he thought, to laughter; and the rest 
(When they and Ruth and he drew side by side) 
Drank eagerly her song, her jest, her merry shout. 

Tremor nor sigh might have her leave to say 

She marked his presence. Into it and out 

She came and went; and then passed on her way. 

And she of all seemed youngest— and most blest. 
Young were her eyes, her smiles like opening flowers. 
Each day was cheated now of half its hours. 

(3) 

Well, be what will, the slowest years move on 

And changes come. So Ruth, he knew, was changed; 

For she is coming, all her girl days done. 

He saw, — he heard,— 'twas not as fear arranged. 
Forgotten peace was his, ere she was gone. 
And many loved her who are now estranged. 

But from her womanhood not yet was won 
Her heart's lone secret, — more it never knew: 
'Twas later guessed from broken words and few. 



86 



(4) 



There fell a noon ; and in the garden slept 
Tired summer, resting from maternal care 
Of flowers full-grown. Beneath a tree they kept 

A drowsy vigil. Bees were fumbling there, 
Fretting the clover-blooms and cosmos tall. 
Then Ruth her long-hid kindness could declare, 

(But scarce articulate were the words let fall). 
How she would bring young life to patient eyes,- 
How of her youth she strove to lend him all. 

Then pointing to some testy wasps that made 
A meal of yellow apple, waits and tries 
Again to speak; but, of more speech afraid, 



I dreamed still more ; but do not bid me tell ! 
And stranger than the dream was my surprise 
And what in this dim waking world befell. 



»7 



i 



FOREVER! 



A youth who fled the city, all at war 

And heartsick with town slavery and din, 
Did stray into the wildwood long and far, 

And loud he swore to dwell for aye therein 
In lordly freedom. As he passed he heard 

A calm, uneven song, which filled far lanes 
Of forest with the music of a bird, — 

A low, but cheerful song, whose clear refrains 
Perhaps a mate within her dark nest heard, — 

A free and fearless song, whose clinging strains 
His heartstrings first and then his footsteps drew,- 

A sweet and careless song, like one that rang 
Sometimes within a casement that he knew, 

Sung by a maid unconscious that she sang : — 
Soon homeward bound, he took with him along, 
And still his heart doth sing, that careless song. 



88 



FOLLY. 



Thou knowest not the arrows 

That are blown from poisoned tongues 
And thou knowest not the sorrows 

Of the gentle, or their wrongs. 
Turn thee back, thou foolish maiden. 

From a pathway sharp with stones 
Where the weary, overladen, 

'Mid^the vultures leave their bones. 

"Nay, I reck not of thy warning, 

Tho' I call it not untrue: 
Not in hope, nor yet in scorning, 

Shall I do what I shall do. 
Either with me or without me 

Thou must walk with feet that bleed; 
And I marvel thou canst doubt me: 

I shall follow, — do thou lead." 

But what strength hast thou to wander 
All the way that I must go? 

Ah, poor child, I bid thee ponder 
And an idle wish forego. 

Thou couldst only, by thy weakness, 
Hold me back or make me fall. 

I have often praised thy meekness, 

Now, farewell ! — thy comrades call. 

"Hear me once and hear me ever. 

Well my feebleness I know; 
And I fear that I shall never 

All thy hard way live to go; 
And I^know, too, as thou sayest, 

I shall harm thee with my need ; 
But, persuade me as thou mayest, 

I shall follow, — do thou lead." 

89 

A 37 



TWILIGHT. 



Ah, Twilight, gentle spirit, who arrayest 
Thy weak limbs in a robe of dusky grey 

And every rare and pallid flower betrayest 
To deck with tenderest hues the bier of day, 

Leave thy sad task awhile, if so thou mayest, 
Ah, beauteous mourner, stay! 

Not yet thy dew-bath, lady, hast thou taken : 
Come, cool those burning eyes and weary feet! 

Not yet the firefly and the moon awaken, — 

Not yet the swallow startleth, blithe and fleet; — 

Ah, thou who minglest for a heart forsaken 
The bitter and the sweet, 

Strike not that wretched bosom! — all thy sighing 
Will rescue not his breath who lieth there : 

Call thou no more upon the unreplying, 
But with the living such wild sorrow share ; 

At thy feet in darkness they are lying 
With loads too great to bear, — 

At thy feet, with weary hands extended 

To thee, that thou mayest take them in thine own ! 
In thine ear they murmur: " It is ended, — 

We can no longer!" in thine ear alone; 
To thy mantle's hem their heads are bended, — 

For thou wilt heed their moan ! 

Thou that art friend to such as have no other, 

Whose hand doth heal the burning blush of shame, 

Ah, bring fresh airs, for many are that smother, 
And counsel bring, for well thou knowest to tame 

The wayward heart,— be patient, like a mother, 
For they are much to blame. 

90 



FAREWELL. 



Leave me that squirrel dropping his loud hull, 
Yon red-bird flaunting by in waistcoat fine, 

This water-snake, from noon-day ardors dull 
And these few — other laurels all be thine ! 

I shall not lack for pomp, — a glittering spire 
Of sunlight o'er me, some odd reverend trees 

(Old friends that chide not, question not, nor tire), 
A shroud imperial pricked with golden bees. 

Go — let me be — my heart in liquid peace 
Lies like a trout, — yet tell me this alone : 

Thy friend's brief hour hath brought some woe's decrease 
Or like a bird lent music ere 'twas flown. 



91 



INGRATITUDE. 



Ye vast companions of man's vaster mind, 
Primeval habitants, of chaos born. 
Whose inmost bowels man for gold hath torn, 

Whose horny skin hath ripped that he might find 

The still more precious wealth of golden grain, — 
Ye who have been his bulwark when he fought 
With beasts, his school where liberty was taught. 

And fed his flocks in your most sacred fane ; 

For those things have ye little thanks — no rest. 
Yea, after this, the wandering poets glean : 
These from your trembling blue, more thought than seen, 

Take further harvest, ere the drunken west 

Kindles your tops to make a funeral pyre 

For pale, dead day and sets the heavens on fire. 



THE CRADLE-LAND. 



Rugged and bare the pathless mountains rise, 

Their jagged capes thrust out into the blue 
Of heaven's serenest ocean. 'Neath me lies 

(So poised a lighting eagle might undo) 
Full many a vast, misshapen ball of stone, 

Near-ripened for the hand of fate to pull : 
Below, the gleaming of the sand alone 

In billows rolled or lying tired and dull ; — 
Scenes where, with Job's lament, in verse began 

Our paltry record as it yet remains. 
And here the sorrows and the ways of man 

Have altered little since. Below, the plains 
Cry: "Vanity — all vanity!" — toward kindlier skies 

The fainting traveler lifts imploring eyes. 



93 



BIRDS. 



Sublime as chaos at the dawn of peace, 

Above, below, for distant eons wait 
Sheer precipices, in unseen decrease 

Still crumbling, like the fortunes of the great. 
Afar and lower, at the foot of all 

The blinded desert writhes beneath the sun. 
But overhead I hear the frequent call 

Of birds which hither, thither sail and run. 
By nothing save the joy of living driven ; 

And down the sunbeams, like a waterfall, 
Their rippling song is poured from quivering heaven 

When ecstasies oppress beyond control, — 

Sweet as the grace sent down to saintly soul 
Or calm unto a sinner's, when forgiven. 



94 



HANDS INVISIBLE. 



The sheep, as still as when the Grecian bard 

Caressed them with the sweetness of his song, 
Above thee lingered near a scanty yard 

Of ruined pillar. This might once belong 
To temple whither victors, battle-scarred. 

With hymns to gods now dead were borne along. 
The blows of time have not thy glory marred, 

O Milo ! — calm as in the quarry's womb 
And fair as when grew pale the artist's brow, 

By thee made wild! New risen from the tomb, 
Thine arms no votary decks with April's bloom : 

Forgetting pagan days, thou reachest now 
Hands all unseen, in pity for the doom. 

Not of old gods, but women sweet as thou. 



PS 



STILL FAITHFUL. 



The fairest marble ever artist's hand 

Did kindle, stood where was, or may have been, 
Great Sidon — now 'mid turbaned Turks doth stand, 

To outlive Stamboul. Light they had not seen — 
Its Greeks and Persians, — many and many an age; 

But not for hearts like theirs hath lost its joy 
This lusty life ; for yet they haste to wage 

Glad battle for their glorious Grecian boy 
Or Darab, mighty King of Kings, beside; 

Or, where the almost winded deer doth fly 
Those foes turned friends, on keen-limbed Arabs ride. 

Above the oblong marble's corners lie 
Four sleepless lions; but enough of fear 
Casts beauty, tramping with her quivering spear. 



96 



NOTHING. 



Temples sublime which long had lived to tell 

New times the magic of their maker's wand, 
From reckless Turkish and Venetian shell 

Were called, when hopeless ruins, to withstand 
The stroke of war; and wondrous works in gold 

Or bronze soon tempted spoilers, 'ere the awe 
Departed from the stories which they told, 

Or sank beneath the ban of creed or law ; 
But thou, Andromache, thou poet's breath — 

Thou thing of naught,— dost linger by the side 
Of Hector, 'ere he hastens to his death. 

Thy cheek as fresh as when thou wert a bride : 
Thy soft eye dropped upon his infant's hand 

A tear not yet, and never to be, dried. 



97 

1374—13 



ELISABETH. 



When the news at length they brought, 
With the pictures, letters, — sent 

All unopened (thus they thought 
More to please me, — kindly meant,) 

Like a wounded beast I fought 
'Ere into my soul it went. 

He was not the one to blame : 

Women are deceivers all ! 
She ensnared him when he came, 

She, though pictured tame and tall. 
Would I might but know her name : 

It is false, — they could recall ! 

With the foremost rode he forth. 

On a steed as proud as he : 
Oh, the strife of south and north ! 

Not a braver heart could be. 
And he knew my beauty's worth, — 

Liars — no ! — he loved but me ! 

Kind they call me, — careless all 

For a selfish loss or gain, 
Ready at a sorrow's call, 

Claiming oft another's pain, — 
Cheerful, too, whate'er befall; — 

Tell me, does my beauty wane? — 

Would he think me now as fair? 

If he could not, would he find 
Still a trace on brow or hair, — 

Something left in heart or mind, 
Something left in look or air? 

Would it please — they call me kind? 
98 



SWALLOWS. 



For you the romping stream doth leap 
Huge boulders, and the lusty breeze 

Blow bugle notes and shadows sweep 
Refreshing billows through the trees, — 

Ye vagabonds, whose trooping call 

Makes heaven's blue bell ring musical. 

But dreary now the garden pond 
That waited thro' the sunny hours, 

And desolate the trees beyond 

The high wall, and the darkening flowers, 

And lonelier still the silent sky, 

But lonely more than all am I ; 

And, may be for a childhood's day 
Beside a stream in summer shade, 

And may be for the friendly way 
They gossip near a love vow made, 

I linger as when strangers stand 

With news from home on alien strand; — 

Ah, may be these are spirit kin 
Would lead still upward and afar 

The winged thoughts that stir within 
And pine and know not what they are, — 

So near they pass us by and call 

Back, as the deepening shadows fall. 



GENTUCCA. 



Ye wondrous histories in words not told, 

Too tender to be touched! — of ye, not least, 

Christ with his sisters, — Dante, thou with her, 

The child that soothed thee, exiled and bereft, — 

Her from whose heart alone, I think, thy soul 

Drew what in many worlds it had not found, — 

How dear, that other's only chiding tells : 

"Beware lest she, too, perish!" Leaves then turned 

Between ye, of a story, copied down, — 

This were a tale, indeed! With thine her name, — 

I think she saw thee write it, and besought 

With thine to have it live, — her name remains. 

Did she not pray: "Great Master and dear friend, 

If thou canst not go on, so fall the drops 

Thou sayest my friendship brings thee, leave my name 

Unblotted there." "And some will understand," 

Did'st thou not answer, brushing tears away? 



GLEANING. 



Unveiled, she claspeth now the dew 
And sunrise in her sheaf, — 

The foreign woman : soon she knew 
Who felt a stranger's grief, — 

Why barley stalks and not a few 
Are left — for whose relief. 

He speaks, — behind her lashes then. 

High billows lift and roll. 
The seen or guessed, the unconfessed 

Exultance of her soul : 
It leaves her steps unsure as when 

Men walk in sleep's control. 

Then in the hidden tears that flow 
New cradled hopes are gay, 

Then with her lip's reluctant bow 
Sweet thoughts in secret play. 

Then on her cheeks, forbidden, blow 
The fairest buds of May. 



1 



UNWEEDED. 



Oh, blame him not, stranger, or softlier chide, 
For the weeds, — for the flowers untended ; 

They tell him his fairy has gone to abide 
In a garden than his more splendid. 

Yes, he waters black stalks with a listless hand 
And the beds where the nettles possess them : 

He is thinking how lilies would understand 
When she tenderly leaned to caress them, — 

How he'd hearken at eve to a faint, clear sound 

(All the hearts of the roses atremble,) 
How he'd brush from before her whatever might wound, 

And the pain of her absence dissemble. 

And now would he follow the print of her feet, 

Now only to him still showing, — 
Ah, beware lest thou finish that work of the sleet 

And the rain through the pathways blowing I 



JUNE. 



The loud cicadac, scents of yellowing grass, 
Limp rushes, bent and lashing in the wave, 

Thick-dropping leaves that round the dark pools pass, 
Attend fair June's swift progress to the grave, — 

These and the jaded breeze, the yellow-coat, 
The wasp, dull roses, many a fledgling bird 

And gaudy tangled weed. Lo, not remote. 
Already are the woodland heralds heard! 

Be patient, lorn Ophelia, — it is best: 

Be calm, — be silent: — what is there to say? 

Thou shalt, and, in some gardens of the blest. 
Perhaps we, too, shall have another day. 

Nor thou nor we have reaped, but we and thou 
Much fragrance of white blossoms may recall, — 

We have not reaped, but there are wages now 
For those who may not gather in the fall. 



103 



SEARCH. 



Throughout the echoless palace of the night 

I sent my soul upon an eager quest: 
My soul returned 'ere yet the dawn was bright 
And brought me home a dark and silent guest, — 

One that did stare and in the threshold stood, 

Casting a dim still shadow where I lay 
Which sent a chill through all my bones and blood; 

And there did stay and there did mean to stay. 

"What hast thou brought," I said, "to one would see 
Where others see not, — feel what none may feel, — 

To him who wiser than his kind would be, — 
All secrets of the quick and dead reveal?" 

But my soul answered: " 'Tis the soul of man 

Would come to dwell with thee. No more, when lone 

Or neighborly, in peace, as they began. 

Thy days shall run, but thou shalt hear the groan 

Of generations. Thou hast but to say : 
'T for myself shall live, — to all else blind,' 

This shape unwelcome from thy door away 

Shall haste." I said: "'Tis late to look behind: 

Seek now within the chambers of the light." 

Soon through my veins a peace, like pleasure, fled. 

For soon came one who kissed, as dawn the night. 
That other, bending, like a rose, her head. 

Beneath the kiss that darkness, trembling, grew 
From foul to fair : I saw a brow of pain 

By this made radiant. After, through and through 
I rested, sending not my soul again. 



iDJ 



MARIENGARN. 

There lies a cove, dim-lighted by the sun, 

Within a twinkling sea, 
Where round my rest come peering, one by one, 

Birds (which its fishes be) : 
These thro' the antlered coral gleaming run, 

Knowing small fear of me, — 

Of one from human sunk and all that grieves, 

Kin to the tribe that yells 
Its minute joy when quietude deceives 

And clear-heard lilies' bells, — 
To all small folk that peep from curling leaves 

And other like sea-shells 

There may the feet of conscience never come, — 

Her terrible, sweet face : 
Like nymphs of Venus dropping from the foam 

The soft hours interlace 
Their fingers and thro' purple caverns roam, 

A merry heedless chase . 

There am I lord, — my kingdom and desires 

Equal, — ^none else to please ; 
There, shining from afar like winged fires, 

In argosies the bees 
Bring the soul freight from many gorgeous Tyres 

And much-untraveled seas. 



»05 

1374—14 



WORDS. 

Hung quenched and white the harvest moon ; 

The quietude an owl awoke 

Who signaled from his ancient oak, 

Then did still forms the wood invade 

Thro' vague half-lights in rustling glade; 

Then, music-tranced, dim roses heard 

The earliest vespers of a bird; 

Then groups of mediating kine 

Stood dripping wildwood's draughts divine; 

Then, just beyond the senses' scope 

Shone lands yet liege to faith and hope. 

And that which lives in blades of grass 

Did rise and like a spirit pass; 

The wine-press of the atternoon 

From golden grapes then pressed a wine 

Which searched with joy these veins of mine. 

Till once again that vision came, 

O more than dear! — too much the same! — 

The very look into my need 

Sent from a heart fresh taught to bleed, — 

The sigh like that which autumn heaves, 

First looking on the waiting leaves; 

The silence which thou could'st not break 

With words there was no need to speak. 



io6 



SONG. 

Childhood's royal idleness, 
Youth's vast loneliness divine, 

Sweeter womanly distress, 

Then a stronger hand in thine, 

Leading thee, and led, no less, 
Down the golden morn's decline. 

Graceful as new leaf at play, 
Tender as the leaves that fall. 

In thy breast the time was May 
Thro' the seasons, one and all ! 

Now — alasi — from far away 
In the night I hear thee call. 



X07 



i 



ROCKS. 

This overshadowing tree, this hut, this dale 
Shut from the desert, seeming void and still. 
Speaks to my heart of one beyond our day. 

It may be I remember, — if I dream, 
The beings that inhabit gentle dreams 
Are sisters to the form which here I see 
As sweetly moving in these quiet scenes 
As trembling shadow of a leaf in May. 

'Twas here she lived, — here withered in the fall, 
Leaving no like, as doth the frosted bloom 
Shook by some lone, belated butterfly, — 
Amid these silent rocks, which here no strife 
Wage ever or foretell : unquiet waves 
Roll not thro* them: they rest and unto rest. 
Brief or more lasting, woo the weary soul. 

Here, in her breast close-hiding all, she loved, — 
In solitude here drooped, a mateless bird, — 
Unsought, if not unloved, here lonely died; 
Here drank, at times (I trust), in this still haunt; 
An opiate from the glimmering bowl of Pan. 
The fair young flower which yonder fading lies, 
Slain by some envious spirit in despite 
Hath rendered up a life like hers, — so frail, 
So clear, — so exquisite. She seemed as one 
Moon-kindled in the mist, — ^like, yet unlike 
And, girt with weakness, strong. 

loS 



No rude — ^no angry enemy prisoned here, 

A being formed of light. No custom hard, 

No law, — naught save her gentle will availed 

To tear apart, when soul to soul grew near, 

The mingling tendrils tipped with fire from Heaven. 

Her breast, in patience and in tenderness, 

But more in tenderness, to pain she gave. 

All-weighing and accepting all, and stern 

Unto herself alone, she did but ask 

From solitude that dreams intone the lute 

So laid aside, — from kindly absence calm 

For her — and for another. 



Here, full oft, 

The friendly birds, inquisitive, drew nigh. 

Such, and few others, knew and spoke with her. 

Near country folk, no question venturing, made 

Freely their calls for help and counsel. These 

Graceful as a hawk oft saw her stand, 

A Ruth within their fields ; and resting them 

At noon, in reverent whispers would surmise, 

Not without sighing, more than half the truth. 



109 



CHALLICES. 



Fashioned from luminous, pure ores of tliought, 
I held a jeweled cup to drain to thee, 

A brimming cup with trembling nectar fraught, 
Which at the lips did fade and cease to be. 

Then, with the reaching of a leopard, stole 

A fair arm, pressing that dark draught between 

Which heals all ills, — but when I seized the bowl, 
That also failed and could no more be seen. 

The upper and the lower sphinx I see, 
A serpent river and a midnight glare. 

And thee beside the roses, dear, and thee 
Beside the roses I have brought thee there ! 



WATCHMAN. 



Watchman, tell us of the night: 
We are weary and would sleep, — 
Tell us of the desert's end : 
Is the dawning yet in sight? 
Do the robbers roam or sheep ? 
Does the foe before him send 
Spies to plan the morrow's fight? 

Here a formless shadow falls ; 
Here the moonlight on the plain 
Showeth endless emptiness; 
And the far-off fox that calls 
Calls aloud in hungry pain, — 
Telleth but his own distress. 
And the great wide night appals! 



SPIRITS. 



"Hail to thee, bright spirit! — whither now? 

Methinks such rosy hmbs and dewy hair 
And that soft star which glitters on thy brow 

Should be of dawn, were ever dawn so fair. 
I follow evening as her bat, and yet 
By some fair miracle, we here are met." 

"Below, how nation unto nation calls, 

And, as by brother, in the one same tongue. 
Is answered ! Look ! — the last dividing walls 

Are tumbling fast, and wide all gateways flung ! 
Fair gleams of many a torch, once pale and rare. 
Are mingling in new brightness ! Everywhere 

'Seems each man's country! Yet the goal not won! 

Not east, not west, but upward to yon heights. 
Thou who did'st send and I who led them on 

Together now shall lead them. Wondrous lights 
In undiscovered regions shall we find, 
And darkness, like a valley, leave behind!" 



EGYPTIAN. 



Hast thou plucked for thy bosom a flower, O Nile, 
A flower to deck thee, or lured the lone feet 

Of a maiden with subtle and serpentine guile. 
With a whisper of life's or of love's deceit? 

Is it hair that lies golden outspread on thy stream? 

Are thy wavelets caressing a delicate cheek, 
And, sweeter than open to love's young dream, 

Kind arms wide-unfolded and calm and meek? 

Afloat in the shadow and nearing the light, 
It may be a beautiful blossom and rare, 

Far-borne from a palace, — ^let fall in delight 
By a loved one, the kiss of her lover to share, — 

By a woman who waited in sorrow and pain 

For one who should come and should cover her eyes 

From the darkness of earth, — who was coming again 
To cover her heart from the pitiless skies, — 

Or reached by thy wave in some shrine of the dead, 
Where the faces that look from its kings of stone. 

Like a deed once ended, a word once said. 
Have no turning or change ever known, — 

Where, in the moonlight, the palms scarce nod, 
And the roar of the lion comes faint and far 

To the sphinx, on her pedestal, lone as God, 
And still as the lips of the Pharoahs are. 

113 

1274— IS 



IRENE. 

Oft on the rocks a cameo pale appears, 

A calm, clear profile, in these silent woods. 

Hid from the desert by encircling hills, 

A face like one that held me, somewhere seen, 

Grecian, long yellowed, sculptor's love or dream, 

Now quite unknown both she and one who wrought 

In prophecy of all the kindly grace 

Which holds first glory in a later creed, — 

In prophecy of this and her, — of her 

Half shown on yon sheer grisly steep. 

Down in the shallow pool about its foot 

The scenes are eloquent of moods that once. 

Thro' many changes of untroubled thought. 

Familiar grew to these low forest roofs 

As their own harmonies of light and shade, 

When we, thro' aisles, sun-gilded, silent, green, 

Made pathway to this weather-sculptured wall, 

By aimless wanderings of a lonely bird 

Scarce visited till then. That gentle hand 

Then pressed away the branches where it seemed 

That ne'er slippered savage yet had crushed 

The velvet carpets, stealing on his prey. 

Then, while rapt noon was whispering to the soul 

Half-way we paused, perhaps to watch some cloud, 

In size and lightness like a floating swan. 

Possess alone the heavens and all their blue. 

Of leaves the fairest tints had, year by year, 
Been spread upon this basin's gorgeous floor 
And by its viewless water there subdued 
To softer colors. Ruder wind passed not 
The challenge of yon heights. No sight 
Nor any sound told of the desert. These thin rills 
Inaudibly lived on and, wandering, foimd, 
Beneath low piles of black and yellow mould, 

"4 



; 

J 

lb 



Their slow meandering way. Here, oftentimes, 
We lingered till the dawning of the night 
Had washed the earth with beauty, — yea, until 
The rounded moon hung burning in the boughs 
And stars that shone as lesser moons, too bright 
For mortal gaze, embossed the dark above. 
Whence, as from vestibule of Heaven, came down 
Ineffable THE glory. 

Is all changed 
Of such fair scenes, or changed alone for one 
Who now again disturbs the woodland calm, — 
Invades this realm no king may call his own 
Nor any good man foreign, — where there lurks 
No weary fool to say our hopes are vain. 
But gentle dreams, long elsewhere withered, shrunk, 
Like truth disrobing in her secret dell. 
Slow disentangle from the thorns of care. 
And masks that hide us from ourselves alone 
Fall to the earth? 

Here many a fadeless hour 
Whose solitude was touched with tender grace 
And stillness with delight, for him lives on, 
And eyes like night or ocean deeply blue, — 
For him who saw each thought that thrilled thy veins 
And luminous mind, when slowly grew that form 
A veil more treacherous as thy soul was made 
By deeds of goodness fairer. Thou wert strong 
And wise, and yet by some strange humor bent 
To yield another worship absolute. 

But when I tell of thee, lest with my life 
Thy memory quite perish, come but cries, — 
But idle stammerings come : the hearers look 
In wondering silence which my heart doth pierce. 
Ah, how could they be given to know thee now 
By one who, blinded by unworthiness, 

us 



Thy thoughts, thy looks, thine actions, — all that lies 
In speech or silence, and thy words were few, 
Could stoop to question even at thy side? 
Seemed this to thee the madness that it was ? 
Are thoughts half told, or ill, or left unsaid 
Here, that we harder strive to speak again? 

The swinging jewel of the butterfly, the bee 

Unspeculating, can these now be calm. 

And thoughts of angels we call flowers. 

As thou and they together in that time ? 

Each day, sufficed thee and its single aim : 

Wish hadst thou none, except to hear one voice 

In proof that not for long went far from thee 

His thoughts, who from thy side each day that failed 

Less willingly was parted. 

Some bright drop 
Mom-wakened, some frail form of frost not yet 
Killed by the kisses waited eagerly. 
Some pallid star absorbed, as thro' his prayer 
The Indian, — even as these thou seemest now, — 
Part of the dawn and with it borne away. 



Ii6 



■k'. 



THE MEETING TIME. 



Howsoe'er unmeet, 
Worst of sinners even, 

Her they may not cheat 
Out of half her Heaven, 

But will let her greet 

One, for her sake, shriven. 

Shall I know her there? 

Will she wait to see, 
(Hid by virgins fair). 

How I burn to be 
As on earth we were? 
Will she hide to see? 

Will she hold to me 

Arms by love made weak,- 
!Let her tresses be 

O'er mine eyes and cheek, 
That I feel and see 

What she cannot speak? 



117 



i 



TEARS. 



The breezes lie and dream of her 

Whom once they breathed so fondly on ; 

While this sweet hour, a gossamer 
Entangled, loiters ere 'tis gone. 

The roses and the lilies wait, — 

I know not what the roses wait. 

Aloft, where midnight sits and sings, 
Of other notes that float and fail 

I hear the many-murmuring wings. 
Kind angels, soft as silken sail, 

Draw near : like shadows, where I lie, 

The angels come and hnger nigh. 

They come in answer to a prayer, — 

Not mine ! — and these great tears that fall 

Upon my cheek are her despair. 
Lone waiting in celestial hall. 

Ah, me ! — and have I yet to die 

Who now so near her bosom lie? 

The angels whisper: "On the earth 
Is love, — but pain, — but sorrow's load : 

What there is left of any worth 
Save but the steps to her abode?" 

The angels come to lead the way 

For weary feet that faint and stray. 



,1X8 



FRAGMENTS. 



Is she thinking how oft near the slippery stair 

How many have tottered of those silent there 

As she passes? Well, may be, themselves, they forget 

Like a moth how each followed a flame in her turn, 

How praise made them dizzy, the sigh of regret 

For roses ungathered. Her cheeks, how they burn ! 

But as for the others, what thought makes them fair? 

Ah, butterflies dwelling far up in the trees 

And bathing each moment their charms in the breeze 

Could never, I think, feel as dainty as these ! 



n 



Ye quiet birds, sweet kindred in the trees, 
Long have I left you for the marts of men. 
To see them drain to-morrows to the lees, 
And of to-days scarce tasting. Now, again 
Let me near spirits clear and all that sings, 
Beings of upper air and joyous wings. 
Share in the gentle folding of these hills. 
Where next ye dine ye know not, — not one grain 
Stored, — not a thought for all time's threat of ills; 
While I, afar, with aching heart and brain, 
Pursue and search through endless, winding ways,- 
Tho', too like you, for neither gain nor praise. 
Now, by this laughing brook, let's wander far 
In friendship old and sweeter than yon star 
Which waits to be the seal upon the fold 
Of one more finished day. 



Ill 



When the swallows fail and to the tinkling quiver, 
Leave the waters, of a tender toned guitar, 

Is there naught, dear, trembling near thee on the river 
Save the music and our well-beloved star? 

And above thee, with her garments torn and flying, 
All enamored and forsaken in the skies, 

When the midnight in wild ecstasies is dying, 
Is it only then the lonely midnight sighs? 

When thou hearest, half-awakened, a lone singing. 
Like a bird, dear, singing longer than the rest, 

Dost thou know, then, at thy window what is winging: 
Dost thou rise and long to clasp it to thy breast? 

It is near thee when thy pathway seems the clearest 
From the troubling and the doubting and the fears, 

It is near thee, O beloved, it is nearest 
Beside thee, lying still amid thy tears. 

IV 

In solitudes, where wealth and scorn abide 

And self is god, thy crown shall not be thorns. 
But serpents. With the lowly choose thy side. 

There, there is glory which the more adorns 
That but the soul may see it, when dim eyes 

Like birds are wakened by the voice of one 
Forsaking not; there, in the mute replies 
Of hand to hand, a sweetness, music's own. 
Great kings shall bow before a greater king. 

Proud argosies with emptiness return; 
But there is gladness, like the rains of spring, 
There peace and rest for aching hearts that yearn. 



The fates but once the thread of life unwind. 

Dim desolation stretched her desert sand 
Before him ; and he dared not look behind 

Where gates forever sealed and silent stand. 
Ere they were sent from those forbidden skies 

He felt an impulse, dreaming, nothing more : 
He looked into the future and her eyes : 

Then saw he, like a shadow cast before, 
That other ; and they two went hand in hand 

Among the lilies ; and he could not tell 
One from the other quite, nor understand 

How they did seem, by some new miracle, 
Not two, but one, — that one, now come again; 

And from this doubt the tremblings yet remain. 



VI 



He called again, — for long, he did not call. 

He sighed to see the trees about the door : 
Their leaves were dropping near the convent wall 

As he had saen them many times before. 



She saw him, — then she saw but falling leaves, 

Poor cloistered heart, and scarce found strength to speak ; 

"He loves young flowers he bindeth in his sheaves," 
She murmured in a voice as kind as meek. 



1274 — 16 



VII 

There on the bed she lay : — he sat beside, 

Hopeless, quite hopeless, — very calm and still. 
It seemed but yesterday since as a bride 

He saw her lying so. "Would love or will, " 
His soul he questioned, "fail me, in her stead 

To yield up life, — to watch the tide outpour 
From severed veins, till light and life were fled. 

And she upraised and I upon the floor?" 

Jealous of life and light, of earth and sky. 

He asked and answered silently, — none knew. 
That hour — that moment, as the years go by, 

Returns upon him ever fresh and true, — 
An hour of nothing done, of nothing said ; 

And yet therein full half of all his days 
Seem sacredly enclosed. The trees have shed 

Their blossoms in the spring, — in autumn's haze 
Their yellowing leaves ; and dews of mom and tears 

Of those who knew her, whom he therefore loves. 

Have come to him, and even hopes and fears, — 
* * * 

vin 

I feel thy beauty as an anguish keen, 
O cankered lily, fading in the moon; 

And over thee in trembling hope I lean. 
As when one waxeth whiter in a swoon. 

Put thy strong arms around me, too, O Death ! 

Hold me that I forget,— at least, forget; — 
Left in this vale, I linger, drawing breath. 

When o'er the heights the star of love hath set. 

Oh, lead me to that kingdom, king of all, 
Where thou hast taken whatsoe'er is best 

And dear and lovely;— take me,— hear my call! 
Where the lovely and the loving are at rest. 



IX 

I sit and I watch as the camels swing 

Along the hard road from the far-ofif land ; 
(One heart, one heaven, the news they bring.) 

I am learning to love it — the limitless sand 
And the clean, sweet bell that the camels ring — 

Tho' I hear in the distance the desolate cry 

Of Hagar, afar from her faint boy gone 
For she waileth: "I cannot see him die!" 

Tho' I hear, when the others have hm'ried on. 

Alone by the sepulchre Magdalen sigh, — 

Tho' a mirror of glass is the limitless sand, 

And I needs must look at myself therein. 
And there is no cover that may withstand 

The might of its clearness, to hide one sin 
Of the sins long-cherished or newly-planned : 

All naked I see them, — the good as well, — 
Of this not the half of the whole I thought, 

But the little doth ring like the camels' bell, — 

Tho' 'tis thus with my soul that the sands have wrought, 

Yet I love it — the fierce white truth they tell. 

X 

If thou could'st wreak fierce pride upon the race 
And die with plaudits ringing in thine ear. 

Of what avail? the crowding times efface 
A glittering name however high and clear. 

Where, thro' the night, the quavering screech-owl's cry 
Startles the ears of those who yet can hear. 

There lay thee down : the birds that linger by 

Shall wake thee not, when leaves are green or sere, — 

Shall wake thee not when skies are dark or fine : 
All weathers shall be friends, each season best : 

And kings shall meaner requiem have than thine 
When pines shall sing above thy dreamless rest. 
123 



.1 



XI 



Ye that loll on your beds of ease, 

Do you ever peer out thro' the flimsy veil 

Between your sins and the crimes of these? 
Have ever ye harkened the children's wail 

Or the sigh of the criminal's wife? Stay, please. 

It may trouble a few of the comforting saws 
Ye have cherished since Cain uttered impudent things 

To notice what penalty out of your laws 

On the women and children, the innocent, springs, 

And to ask for their punishment reason or cause, — 

To think of a widow or wife, — of the scorn, 
Lone, starving, but as she can beg or steal. 

Of a daughter who better had not been born. 
Of a son of seven years doomed to feel 

The winter's chill in his fair May morn. 



XII 

Sing! — the night is short, Maria! 

Sing, ah sing, till it be day ! 
Once again "Santa Lucia!" 

Soon we shall be far away, 

In a new-pitched camp o'er ocean 
Called a city and our home : 

'Tis to us a strange emotion 
Shared to-night with thee and Rome. 

Such a wail from buried ages ! 

Such a wild and sweet caress ! 
And that sigh of peace all sages 

Would give all things to possess ! 
124 



1 



XIII 

The ocean stretches far and wide, — 
Cramped are the ports and few! 

Then let us o'er the wild waves ride ! 
Ye laggards all, adieu! 

How say ye, brothers, would ye feel 

The final fortress won 
Or gladlier gird again the steel 

That mocks the rising sun ? 

For me — I'd hear the clarion 
That leads the glorious fray ! 

Life's battle, let it still go on. 
And ye who will, go pray! 



125 



s 



LBMy^ 



